


Odd Family beginnings

by whimsicalmuse



Series: Odd Family Fanfiction [1]
Category: Ask the Odd Family from Asgard, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what made The Odd Couple decide to start a family?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odd Family beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ask the Odd Family From Asgard](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/13913) by Superficial-Skull. 



> A/N: Okay, so I wrote this for the lovely mod at Ask the odd family from Asgard because I love her comics. Her characters are perfection. Funny, sexy, vulnerable, and she brings ALL THE FEELS.
> 
> And I got to wondering how they decided on starting their wacky little family. I bothered our lovely mod, she answered some pertinent questions, et voila! Cracky goodness. I guess warning for discussed mpreg? I hope you all enjoy, especially Ask the odd family from Asgard ! I <3 you! 
> 
> Thank you SO SO SO much phuriousphandompheels for the super fast beta! <3

It started with little things. How his brother laughed when he tripped on a pram whilst navigating the clogged, stinking Midgardian streets. The look Thor gave a bug eyed gawking toddler when they supped at his favorite establishment. (His favorite because they had a Mjölnir themed cup with “wacky straws” and indulged in his requests to fill it with ale.) The way Thor’s eyes would crinkle whenever some slattern asked to him to take a portrait with their baby. Like pebbles that start an avalanche, it wasn't long before the signs and symptoms were everywhere.

There was the magazine left open to an article titled, “How Becoming a Dad Made Me a Better Person.” The four hour long trip to the Baby Emporium because Denise in accounting was expecting and it was custom to shower brood mares with gifts just before she foaled. Their romantic walks in Central Park detoured from the normal path so they might pass the expansive play area for children. The long suffering sighs Thor would heave whenever Mother would send letters inquiring after the status of grandchildren.

There was no way around it, upon consultation it was apparent that Thor Odinson was ill with the condition Barton called “Baby Fever.” And as a Frost Giant, Loki Odinson believed he was well prepared to cure him of it.

He tried encasing the oaf in ice while he slept. Thor did not tolerate this well, and said some Things that resulted in his sleeping on the couch for a week. As a rule, Loki would have relished in his discomfort, but he sorely missed the firm warmth of his husband. Moreover, he missed the enthusiastic sex he’d become accustomed to at least thrice daily. As such, Loki threw him a bone, so to speak, and when Thor returned from his duties with SHIELD the following evening he found Loki sprawled across the table with elegant slivers of sashimi and rolls of sushi chilling on his blue skin. He might have felt ridiculous but when Thor beheld his spouse he tripped over his own feet to rush to his side, and ever did Loki enjoy watching his brother fall flat on his fair face.

The reconciliation sex was quite lovely as well.

Later, Thor chanced asking his mercurial mate what exactly possessed him to play such a prank, and Loki mumbled that he believed Thor to be suffering from some kind of Midgardian fever.

“But Loki, we are not susceptible to plagues.”

Loki glowered. “It would seem you are not immune to this one.”

Thor was puzzled, but Loki was not in the mood to elaborate, so they slept.

The week after, Loki reflected on another cure for this inconvenient ailment. It would seem that Thor was getting worse. He drug Loki to an office party (which was always an awkward affair. The mortals feared that he was contemplating their messy demise, and their fears were, in fact, founded.); at said party, someone asked Thor about the line of succession in Asgard. Another busy body was cleverly prodding to see if the “Odd Couple” as the soldier called them, were going to breed anytime soon. As if it was any of their concern.

They had discussed children. Specifically, they discussed how ill-suited they were to be parents, what with their bloody quarrels that leveled city blocks, Loki’s tattered past as a parent, and Odin’s tendencies to banish, trap, or ride Loki’s offspring.

He fully expected Thor to politely dismiss that line of questioning, but to his horror, Thor blushed. He blushed, and though Loki was across the room he could hear his voice dip as he confessed that the thought of children had been on his mind, but that he was unsure about the timing.

“If you need an agency for surrogacy or adoption, I have wonderful referrals,” said Alisha, the haggy receptionist that always snitched when Loki tried to enter SHIELD headquarters from the main entrance. It figures that she would be barren.

“That is very kind of you.” Thor grinned, and then, horror of horrors, asked. “And how is your youngling? Does he still suffer from the eruption of his teeth?”

“You mean is he keeping me up all hours of the night teething? Ugh, yes!”

Loki snuck out to Stark’s obscenely large veranda to get fresh air, or as fresh as could be had in a city as densely populated as New York. Thor was domesticating. That was the end result of this baby fever. One day he would be spending twenty minutes to decide on what motif tea towels they should buy, and before he knew it they would have to schedule their sex, Loki would start to look old and ugly because he was sleep deprived and up to his elbows in baby shit.

He could not—would not allow it. They would have words regarding children, and when they did Thor would understand that children just weren't on the menu.

*

Like so many things, Loki’s grand plan to set Thor straight blew up in his face. Loki thought he’d use his famed silver tongue to demonstrate just the sort of amusements they could muster because their house was devoid of brats. Then, when Thor was pliant and sated in his arms, he’d mention starting a family, bring up the old hurts from his estranged children which was clever albeit it spiteful because he did indeed still hurt from the loss, but it also made Thor guilty twice over, for it was his father that caused the harm. By the time he was finished Thor would be so uncomfortable he’d drop the issue for fear of causing more harm.

Thor, it would seem, had other plans. He turned his mouth onto Loki. Wound him up like a pocket watch, tore him to pieces, and then, when he was balls deep and so close all Loki could see was the curtain of golden hair and the shine in Thor’s eyes, he kissed his husband and gasped, “Let us have a child, Loki.”

The hope, the innocent longing, and the guarded set of Thor’s mouth burned, and Loki actually felt guilty when he looked away in a silent gesture of refusal. His eyes stung and he told himself it was due to Thor’s dripping sweat. Thor tugged his chin back to look at him.

“I will not force you.” He kissed the corner of his mouth. “I know you have reservations.”

That was a gross understatement.

“But you are my heart, Loki. When we took our vows I was overjoyed to bind myself to you forever. What better way to honor that bond, which has held fast these years, than to come together in a perfect union and make a precious little person?”

“You simply want an heir and an anchor for me,” Loki huffed.

“I will not deny that an heir would be lovely,” Thor smiled sadly. “I simply want the world to see how beautiful our love is through our child. And I can think of more agreeable ways to anchor you to one place,” he added with a meaningful look to Mjölnir’s perch.

“Brute.” Loki pinched him. “The child would be half Jotun.” Loki lowered his eyes. “A darkling seed of discord thanks to me.”

“The child will carry a part of you and as such be ever so precious to me,” Thor corrected with a kiss.

Loki tensed. “I-I’m sorry, Thor. I can’t.”

And when Loki saw Thor’s disappointment he felt this strange feeling just under his ribcage Sort of like the indigestion he had when the Spider Woman introduced him to “Mexican Food.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Thor assured with a weak smile.

That, strictly speaking, was not true, but Loki would confess nothing until Thor made that unfortunate discovery on his own in the morning.

*

Since Loki assumed that this fever may well be contagious he took preventative measures on himself. He removed the wheels of every pram he saw, lest one touch him and transmit the baby loving pestilence. He disabled ice cream carriages as they seemed to attract younglings in droves. He glowered at women who were with child and covered his mouth with scarves when he saw them. He refused to get up to offer them a seat when doing his rounds in Central Park. When imprudent imps dared look upon him he made a point to frighten them with illusions of his face melting into unspeakable horrors. He stole their candy. In short, he was a menace to all breeding women, and children younger than 12 summers. (He was a menace to adolescents as a general rule, so no changes were required there.)

And in the end, it was futile. Just when he fancied he’d escaped the worst of the risk of this contagion, and Thor finally seemed to have quit the reckless notion himself, Loki was stymied. He was bowled over by a bloody pram and infected. One moment he was subjugating the ice cream vendor, and the next thing he knew his legs were tangled up with the axle and wheels of pram labeled “Bugaboo” and there was a child on his person! The little whelp didn't even have the decency to look chagrined. Though he seemed to have cushioned her from the fall, she cried, fat gross tears, while the mother struggled to right herself.

As the ice cream slave assisted the mother, Loki stared at the brat. And she stared back, still hiccuping from tears. Her hair was gathered into two bunches of delicate dark poofs. Her heart shaped face was smooth, and her lashes were long and curled. Roly poly arms flailed, perhaps a nervous gesture, he did not spend time in the company of younglings, he did not know. She was, Loki had to concede, beautiful, and against his better judgment he caught himself giving her a reassuring smile. This was all the encouragement she needed. She crawled up his torso, brown eyed gaze trapping like him as if he’d been spellbound, and she did not stop until she was sitting on his collarbone. He blinked. A stray tear slid from her chubby brown cheek and landed on his chin. Then she smiled, showing all four teeth, and patted his face softly.

Her skin was so soft. And she smelled good. Like the sweetest, most comforting ambrosia. Something twisted and burned under his ribcage again, and when he caught himself wondering if the little one was injured he knew he’d been infected. He scarcely restrained himself from tossing her into her mother’s arms.

He left for home, then, weary of mortal company, so distraught he didn't even finish the ice cream. On the way home he caught himself wondering what a child with Thor would look like. Would they have a boy or a girl? Would he be able to give his husband an heir?

When distraught, he’d taken to cooking elaborate meals, so as he made a 12 course meal complete with his own brie for dessert he found himself wondering how he might decorate the nursery. Madness.

When he seduced Thor after aperitifs he thought of what secrets he might pass onto his offspring. How he might tutor them in the arts, knowledge beyond the ken of these simpleton mortals, the ways of martial arts, court etiquette, histories, seiðr.

And when he tucked against Thor’s rumbling chest he inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar mouthwatering smell, and found himself wondering if their child would smell as sweet as the girl child he’d ran into at the park. 

By morning he could not deny it any longer. He had succumbed to this Midgardian fever. And there seemed no reliable cure in sight. So he coped with this the best way he knew how. He unleashed chaos and discord upon the city. They would not take him down to the level of puerile sentiment without a mighty battle.

It was a simple plan, really. Thor was so fond of the establishment, and while Loki as a general rule disliked the smells, the mortals, and the sub-par ice cream, he could appreciate the value in caging dangerous beasts just in case you required their services.

The problem with these so called zoo animals was that the steady diet, regular medical attention, and warm lodgings had made them soft. Too docile for Loki’s plans. So, as he wove seiðr to duplicate their forms, he added a healthy layer of berserker energy, and by the time he flipped the switch of their restraints they were ripe for destruction.

The warmth that swelled in his chest when he first heard the screams, the metallic crunch, and the shattering very nearly pushed the new longing in his chest aside. Good, then this was progress.

He took a pair of giraffes as his mount, one foot planted on each, the reins in both hands. They reared at first, using their hind legs to overturn a bus, and then galloped down the street, so feral the whites of their eyes shone. It was beautiful. The sentries came to the scene first, projecting their voice and bellowing commands for Loki to cease and desist.

He paid them no mind.

When thirty minutes had passed and he did not see his husband arrive on the scene he began to wonder. Then he remembered that Thor was in a meeting with the Fury and his other mortal pets. He had asked him to attend, come to think of it, prattling on about Loki’s status as a known combatant being up for review. He wished to lobby SHIELD to see that Loki was a reformed man, softened by love and his closeness their hero. That he meant no harm, really, beyond a bit of mischief here and there. Well. Loki had no intention of going in the first place, but in light of recent developments it was obvious that he would need to send a clearer message.

Loki was, and should always be considered a known combatant. He was a god, not a simpering housewife rendered toothless and docile by matrimony. Trapped in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. Flawless physique marred by unseemly stretch marks, and…sagging.

It was only natural that he steer his speckled steeds on a path to SHIELD's secret headquarters. A porcupine was skittering underfoot, so he summoned the little beast, set fire to it, and lobbed it through the window where he could see his husband gawking down in horror.

The sounds of his brother’s mighty indignant roar was sweet, sweet music.

Thor caught up with him in the heart of central park. It was fitting that their confrontation would come at the site of where the fever had struck him in the first place. He dismounted from his steeds, sent them running with a slap on their flank, and then sat on a bench and waited. Moments later his brother landed with a rumble, tearing snapping turtles from his crotch, and subduing a pair of very persistent raptors that mysteriously seemed intent on pecking his eyes out.

“Loki, end this madness!” he rumbled without preamble. This might have been more threatening were it not for the rabbit that had appeared and was enthusiastically rutting against his leg.

“I will not,” Loki replied, the giggle evident in his voice. “Spare me the theatrics and let us progress to the part where I best you after a great battle.”

Thor tossed the rabbit aside. “So be it.”

Thus it began. Both were fueled by frustration and in between blows, they aired their dirty laundry.

“What would possess you to do this, Loki? It is as if you cannot abide by relishing the measure of happiness that we have here, you must always sabotage—“

“I must sabotage? This is your fault, Odinson.” Loki feinted to the left, and buried his favorite dagger into Thor’s right side. “You disrupted the peace with your talks of heirs, and prams, and Baby Emporium—“

Thor bent the fine shaft of the dagger angrily and then punched Loki in the throat. “Is this why you are having this messy tantrum? Because you are scared of motherhood?”

“I am not scared,” Loki huffed, and then because he was feeling spiteful, swiped at Thor’s legs. When he missed, he jammed the butt of his scepter into his brother’s jewels. “I am merely wise to your feeble attempts at tricks, Thor. You speak of love and beauty, but really you simple want to subdue and trap. I won’t stand for it!”

“Ha!” Thor squeaked when he could speak again. He rolled onto his side, and kicked his brother in the knee, bringing Loki down. “What sort of glutton for punishment would agree to an eternity of battle with you?”

Loki cocked his head in confusion. “You—“

Thor tossed Mjölnir onto his stomach, effectively trapping him. “Precisely so. Do you think I do not know what I would be agreeing to by going down this road with you? That I would need to trap you? Did you not think that I was looking forward to seeing what sort of mother you will be?”

Loki glowered at Mjölnir and sulked for several long moments. Then, “I know what sort of mother I would be, Thor.” He bit his lip. “A terrible one.”

Thor’s face crumpled, and Loki could see the fight leave him. “Oh, my love—“

“Spare me,” he shoved his face away. “I regret having this conversation; you were more interesting when you were angry.”

“My anger is not so abated that I have not considered returning you to SHIELD in shackles, husband.”

There was a threat there, and Loki hoped he could make a promise.

“You could try,” he shrugged. “Just as you could try to get me with child, were you man enough.”

Thor grinned, slithered above his husband, and took him by the throat. “I would breed you easily. You are the coward who has prevented it thus far.”

Loki tilted his chin defiantly. “Then try, Odinson. Cease this nattering and take me. I am not afraid.”

Thor had his hammer off him and aimed for the sky before Loki could finish his sentence.

*

Eight days later Loki was striding through the halls of Stark’s phallic tower, ready for his weekly appointment with Barton. Strictly speaking he was not supposed to be on the premises without clearing security, but he and Barton had an arrangement since the debacle with his failed attempt to take Midgard. The warrior challenged Loki to a private battle, desirous to put an arrow through his eyeball. And Loki enjoyed tossing him around and setting fire to his weapons on a weekly basis. Though the man had yet to so much as graze Loki in the years they had done this in private, both found it rather enjoyable. He was especially fond of the Frappuccino beverages that he and Barton would have together when the mortal finally yielded.

As so Loki and he compared notes on the progress of the cleaning from the zoo incident while arrows choked the air but did not touch him. Thor had cajoled Loki into participating in the cleanup, knowing that he was so well sated from their romp that he would agree to just about anything, damn him.

“And I says to him, I’m not cleaning up elephant shit, man. Get a level 2 or something to do that. I’m just here to make sure Dumbo doesn't go postal, okay? I don’t give a shit about his turds.”

“Fascinating,” Loki drawled as he threw himself into a graceful flip to dodge the newest onslaught from the mortal. “I do hope Fury stepped in this excrement.”

“He did,” Barton giggled. “Banner suggested they collect it and test it to see if your magic whammy showed up or something. Stark agreed, fucking weirdo.”

He imagined the monster and his man of iron sifting through shit in the hopes that they might have an inkling of how his seiðr worked, and couldn't help the giggle that escaped.

“Oh, I nearly regret missing this.” He sighed, and then dropped to his knees and arched back to avoid a well-timed loosed arrow. At the same moment something warm and heavy settled deep in his belly, flaring to life with the tiniest spark, and he gasped, concentration thoroughly broken. The tip of the arrow grazed his hair as he flailed and ended up sprawled inelegantly on the gymnasium floor.

“Boss?”

Loki realized his chest was heaving. He thought of their congress but a week ago. How Thor called his bluff and challenged him to see if his seed would take root. Though he quailed with worry inside, he honored his bargain and had performed no contraceptive spells in the aftermath. In truth, he mostly suspected his fears were unfounded. But now? He rested his hands on his belly, scanning, confirming the truth he already knew.

He was with child.

“Boss?”

Barton peered down at him, bug eyes comically wide. “Boss, I-I nearly hit you.”

Loki was having a baby. With Thor. Their own child.

“Boss? You’re starting to worry me, man. I've never came close to hitting you, and you look kind of… funny. Almost… nice. Starting to think you've got a condition or something, actually.”

“Yes,” he murmured. He got up; pat Barton on the head absently, took his double chocolate mint Frappuccino with extra whipped cream, and went home. He had news to deliver and he had to devise just the right way to tell it.

 

*

 

He went onto the oracle Google to find inspiration for ways to announce that you were with child to your spouse. Then he went to the market and collected a host of “baby” food items. He had just put the lamb in the oven when there was a knock on the door. He knew who was calling before he let him in; he could smell aftershave, hair gel, and the saccharine aroma of unicorn farts that was the repulsive enthusiasm and kindness clean through the door.

Thomas Hiddleston.

He nearly took door of the hinges. “Go away!”

“Do I smell lamb?” His curly haired doppelganger brushed past him and took off his scarf. Loki plucked it from the coat rack and put it in his pocket. He was unsure who it belonged to first, but that was of no matter.

“Yes, I am preparing a fine feast for Thor. Now go.”

“But Loki,” he wheedled with wide eyes. “We haven’t spent time together in ages and I just returned from—“

“I don’t care, Thomas.” He sighed as he stuffed icing into the pastry bag. He planned on spelling it out for Thor in case the baby theme didn't sink in, which was a real possibility, since his husband’s higher order thinking departed at the sight of red meat or a naked Loki.

“—And then I’m to do this play and it is so brilliant! The director really understands artists—hey!”

Damn. Perhaps he should have waited until the nuisance left to decorate the giant cookie. He often forgot that many mortals were literate. Tom grasped his shoulders, mouth agape.

“You…”

Oh dear. He knew that look.

“Oh, Loki, that is WONDERFUL NEWS!”

That twitching leg, the signs of an eminent stroke turning Thomas’ face purple.

“So grand, congratulations—“

If he didn't diffuse this now, “I am—“

Thomas would be—

“— UNCONTROLLABLY EXCITED. OH, OH, THE FEELS, COME, LET ME LOVE YOU!”

Bor’s balls.

He man-handled Thomas, dragging him from his kitchen to his preferred closet to stuff the lad in.

“Should you be doing all of this in your condition? I am fine, truly!”

Glitter was oozing from his pores in lieu of sweat. The unicorn aroma was unbearable, and likely the smell would attract “fangirls” who would perch on his windowsill. He would quarrel with his brother then, as Thor was always so bizarrely offended when he used them as moving targets to practice with.

“You mind your own business and your tongue! I do not wish for Thor to find out until I tell him! If you squeal, I will pierce your guts and roast you over a spit!”

“Alright, Loki but—“

Thomas was properly contained just as Thor burst through the door, announcing his arrival.

“Loki, I have returned!” he boomed. Rather redundant habit, really, considering he dislodged the same painting every time he opened the front door.

Loki smiled, and opened his arms to embrace him. “Husband, I have missed you!”

He was swept up in embrace, savoring the taste of him when the closet door creaked and then burst open, spilling Thomas onto the floor.

Thor looked down at the man, face lighting up with a smile. He was well used to Loki stuffing the lad in a closet.

“Friend Thomas! What brings you to our home today?” He helped the trembling lanky man up from the floor.

“I—“ Thomas squeaked, gave Loki a plaintive look and then flailed. “Too much pressure! I cannot, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He ran from the room, still screaming, and Thor shook his head.

“Uncontrollable excitement?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes. Now come, I have prepared a special dinner—“

There was a thump as Thomas tripped over Sven and his screams were muffled by their lush carpet.

Thor looked at Loki. “What has him so diverted?”

“Um.” A tribe of butterflies filled his stomach and his eye twitched. “Nothing, Thor, come just—“

“Come, Loki. I have seen Thomas excited before, but this—“

He gestured to the man, who had pulled himself up and was stifling his gleeful noises with clenched fists.

“Never mind him.” He steered Thor to the table and presented his first baby course. Petite chilled vegetables were artfully arranged on a plate the size of a saucer. Thor gave him a dubious look.

“Loki, have you been on Pinterest again?”

“Hush,” he chided as he turned to pull down the dinner plates. “Finish this and I will serve you the next cour—“

Thor wiped his mouth and presented the plate back to him.

“That was for everyone!”

“Everyone?” Thor snorted. “Dearest, I have plucked more generous servings from my teeth.”

“You swine!” Loki snatched open his gourmet oven and plated their half cooked food angrily. “Always disrupting my plans!”

He tossed the hastily made plate in front of Thor, who wore the same expression as before, but was wise enough to hold his tongue.

“Thomas, please join us!”

Thomas wrenched his eyes shut.

Before Loki could plate the cookie, Thor was finished with his plate, and was shoveling the remaining. When Loki let out a strangled noise his husband blushed.

“Apologies, brother. Er, were you going to eat that?”

He threw his hands up in the air indignantly, cookie flying right in Thor’s face and stormed to the wine he had resting and took a generous swig.

“Hey!” Thomas stopped his wailing to point. “I’m sorry darling, I know you commanded my discretion, but you cannot drink that!”

“I DO WHAT I WANT!”

“Someone will explain, and they will explain now.” Thor folded his well-muscled arms. “Thomas is beside himself, and you are behaving most queerly, Loki. What is the matter?”

“Can you be that thick?” Loki gasped as he whirled around. “It is written right in front—“

Except it wasn't. Pastel bits of frosted cookie clung to Thor’s stubble, but the cookie was gone.

Loki twitched. “I am with child, you simpleton! I designed this memorable set up to tell you, but Thomas came and you ate all the hints, and—“ His nose tickled, he sneezed, and the television exploded.

Thomas screamed like a girl and dove for the floor again.

Blasted parasite. Thor shook himself from his stupor. “Pregnancy symptom?”

Loki sniffed. “Yes.”

“You… you are with child? Truly?”

Loki chewed his lip. “Yes.”

Thor brushed their formal dining table aside as if it was nothing, and folded his spouse into his arms. “Thank you, brother. I love you so—“ His arms gripped like a vice and Loki began to fear for the child.

“Do not thank me yet, wait until the child is up all hours—darling I cannot breathe—“

His husband trembled, but eased his grip, and when Loki looked up he realized Thor was shaking with unchecked happiness.

“We shall have to have a grand feast fit for the heir of Asgard, not these puny baby meat chunks!” Thor boomed.

Thomas staggered to his feet and wrapped himself around Thor and Loki. “How I adore group hugs! Well done, lads! I am not quite sure how Loki is expecting, but I am sure you will be lovely parents!”

Thor smiled, such an open joyful expression, so he kissed him. And then Loki let the dam break, filling his chest with the sensation Stark had once described as warm fuzzies. He was happy. He was terrified, but he was deliciously happy. His consolation was that soon he would be spilling the contents of his stomach so often this sickening feeling would be but a memory all too soon.


End file.
